Reminiscing After Dark
by ChequeRoot
Summary: C. Montgomery Burns, his husband Waylon Smithers, and visiting east-coast CEO Preston Tucci find themselves drinking and talking after a business deal. As the bottles empty, and the fire grows dim, each man recounts moments from past relationships in their youth that gave shape to who they became today.
1. Chapter 1

_**A Note on Timelines:** This story takes place somewhere in the same timeline as "The Nuclear Tetralogy," "The Saga of Ryan Smithers," and "Snapshots." It takes place sometime after the tetralogy, and "Saga", but beyond that, establishing a precise place for it is pure speculation, and I leave it to the Reader to put it wherever they want to._

 _~ Muse_

* * *

The room was dark, hot, almost stiflingly so. A fire burned on the hearth, behind an ornate wrought iron guard. Several bottles adorned the mantle, full of various coloured liquids. There was a crystal flask, half full with a dark brandy, the scent of which was strong enough to get a light drinker tipsy. A bottle of vodka sat beside it, and finally a decanter of some deep red wine that looked almost purple in the dark light.

A silver bowl of rapidly melting ice cubes sat beside the collection, a pair of matching tongs set off to the side.

On a nearby end table was a simple square bottle of tonic water, the sort that was delightful fully bitter and mildly fizzy. It both quenched the thirst, and diluted the vodka.

Charles Montgomery Burns reclined in a massive, claw-footed wing chair, half facing the fire, half watching his guests out of the corner of a narrowed eye. His cheeks looked sunken, but his blue eyes gleamed with a keen intensity. It was late. Well beyond his normal bedtime hours. For tonight, at least, sleep was not a priority.

Over the past several hours, after dinner, the liquid in the bottles had slowly decreased. The clarity and inhibitions of the drinkers likewise lessened. "Truth serum," Burns muttered, turning a snifter of brandy delicately between long, skeletal fingers. "Not as good as the sort I could've made in my youth, but for tonight, it will suffice."

A man, seated on an ottoman by Burns' feet nodded, and took another sip of the vodka tonic he'd mixed. He was far beyond counting which one it was. It didn't matter now. Contracts were signed, deals made. Now was the time for the quiet banter of men after their business was done.

He stared at the glass, firelight reflecting off the round-framed glasses he wore. His short grey hair looked almost copper in the firelight. "I've no doubt of that, Monty," he replied, slowly.

They were the Burns, both Monty and Waylon. The grey haired man on the footstool had kept his last name, "Smithers," after marriage purely on legal principle, but he was known informally as Waylon S. Burns. It was a surname he was not shy about dropping when situations required it. An old name that held power still.

Across from them both, in the other chair by the fire, sat a third man: a guest of the Burns' in their manor. He was neither old, nor particularly powerful. A second generation Italian immigrant, whose grandparents had moved to America decades before. His name was recognized in a few circles, most local. But that was of little consequence tonight. Preston Tucci was nearly through a bottle of wine all on his own, enjoying the heat that came from within as the alcohol relaxed his muscles, loosened nerves.

"Is that a joke?" Preston asked, leaning his head towards Monty and Waylon. Moving slowly, so as not to make the room sway.

"More truth than you know," Burns replied. "And nothing I shall share with you."

Waylon bobbed his head in agreement. "Trust me, Preston, it's best not to know."

Preston took their words to heart, and didn't press the matter further.

"So tell me," Preston began after a moment of quiet reflection, "how is this all working out for you? Because my situation... with... well..."

"Antoine?" Smithers asked, helping fill the blanks.

"Antoine, yes. It's different now. Before we were simply living together, but now, things seem more intense, and sometimes I wonder."

Burns leaned forward, tracing his free hand up the center of Smithers' back as he did, a light caress. He gently stroked the base of Smithers' neck with cool fingers, and tilted his head.

"If I may be so bold, Tucci, I never did get a hint of such an inkling from your pilot friend. That you were companions was apparent, certainly. But to be more? That he would ask you to share his life with him? Well, I never expected him to be a man of _those_ persuasions."

Burns draped his arm gracefully over Waylon's back and smiled at Preston. The action was neither casual, nor entirely innocent.

"He's not... well, it's not that simple," Preston replied, standing up rather cautiously, and reaching towards the mantle for support. He pulled the wine bottle over, and refilled his glass nearly to the brim. He set the bottle down and leaned against the fireplace, letting the heat of the flames warm his legs.

Burns' face twitched slightly. "Do not let yourself be lured into a marriage with one who doesn't share your predilections, my boy. I've seen the consequences of that before."

Smithers pulled himself away from his husband's embrace, turning so he could look Burns eye-to-eye. "You mean me, don't you."

Burns laughed and dragged his fingers through Waylon's short, mouse-grey hair. "No, no, my dear Smithers. Let us leave that story off the books for now. Though I do wonder at times, what caused you to display such a draw to me. Why, out of all the more contemporary young men of Springfield, you chose to lavish your affections on me instead."

Smithers relaxed slightly. "Oh, that's an old story too."

"Please," Burns nudged, giving Smithers a calculated prod. "Humor an old man? You can't honestly think I didn't know about you, or see what you were doing with that little 'special clientele' pub you and that gargoyle ran briefly downtown. Such an interest connotes familiarity. So, pray tell me the tales of your youth."

Smithers shook his head. "You know most of it, and my father - step-father anyway - I don't much care to relive those memories." He swirled his glass, watching the remnants of ice cubes swirl, listening to them clink against the glass.

Burns ran a finger along Waylon's neck. "Smithers, my dear man. I want to know of the first time you knew who you were."

"You mean my first time, with a man?"

Burns gave an innocent roll of the shoulder. A shrug. "Are we not all upstanding in gentlemen and executives here? Is this not a little late night banter to be shared among men? Old tales of conquests and past exploits?" Burns' brushed his lips over Smithers' cheek, almost a kiss. Definitely seductive. "Please," he whispered, sliding his hand over Waylon's chest. "For me?"

Waylon blushed slightly, and looked away. He shook his head. "Fine, Monty, fine. Alright. Here it is."

* * *

 **Waylon's Story:**

 _I didn't know I liked men until I was easily in my senior year of high school. Before that, it hadn't entered my mind. My childhood was a bit too much focused on survival, and staying under my step-father's radar._

 _He knew before I did. It was the lack of interest in "locker room talk," and the way he'd try to get me to agree with him when he'd talk about women._

 _"Look at her, son," he'd say if we passed a pretty girl about my age. "Wouldn't you_ _like a girlfriend like her?" That was the mildest stuff he said. When he was alone with me, he'd say things far worse._

 _I suppose that's why I'm a feminist now._

 _He knew from the fact that I played with my cousin Caroline instead of her brother, Robbie. The way we'd play with her Malibu Stacey collection, play dress up, or that infamous time I let her paint my nails._

 _Like I said, I didn't know the implications of that in the eyes of adults. I was just a kid, I knew what I liked, and I never understood why my step-father hated it so. It wasn't until my senior year in high school that it hit me._

 _I invited Lydia to the Prom, and while I was there I saw Tyler, captain of the football team of course, there with his date. I can't even remember who he was with. All I realized was that I couldn't stop staring at him. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be him, or be with him, but it scared me._

 _That night was my first. With Lydia, of course. Her first time too. It was awkward and not the stuff of love songs. It felt good, but I couldn't help imagining it was Tyler who I was with, instead of Lydia._

 _I guess I must've imagined it well. After she and I got the motion down, well, it was a good night for both of us._

 _Afterwards, I felt guilty as hell, picturing another person, a boy no less. I resolved to not let that get in my head._

 _I was in college when my step-father had his first heart-attack. It definitely slowed him down a bit. I'm glad I was going to school here in Springfield. I needed to help my mother take care of him. Well, not exactly. She took care of him, and I helped take care of her._

 _Lydia was a good friend. She was there for me. I suppose that got mixed up in my head with sexual love, and I proposed to her._

 _It didn't work out like I'd planned. I was young, I was stupid, and the laws of propinquity were rearing their ugly head._

 _My days were spent at the nuclear power plant, as a personal assistant to Monty Burns. At first it was just a job, but as the time wore on, I started feeling an unanticipated fascination with the man._

 _I wondered about where and how he lived, what his life was like. A curiosity that slowly merged into a crush. I'd find my heart flutter when he called my name. Little things that at once I found unappealing, like his narrow figure I suddenly found quite attractive. I started imagining things. I told myself it wasn't right. After all, I'd known him since my youth. He was my godfather, after all. It wasn't right that I should look at him and feel this yearning._

 _I know I talked about "Mister Burns" too much to Lydia. She'd never liked him, but that came as much from my mother's influence I think. Lydia and my mother got along quite well. It made our marriage seem all the more fated. How often does one's wife get along with her mother-in-law? Not often, I think!_

 _Unfortunately, our marriage fell apart._

 _It was in part because of my drinking, in part because of my job. The pain medication for my broken ankle probably factored into the mix too. I think perhaps the final straw though was my attraction to my boss._

 _When I made love to her, I'd find myself imagining him instead. Eventually it got to the point where I couldn't imagine enough. I'd look at Lydia, and she was beautiful, but I simply could not get excited in being intimate with her._

 _I tried to distract myself with the pain meds, the alcohol. Then I hit the proverbial brick wall. I couldn't do it anymore! We had a fight, the largest one in a string of many recently._

 _She thought I was going to hit her. For a moment, I thought I was too. When she cringed away from me, I felt absolutely sick inside. I don't know what I would've done next, probably drank myself into a coma, but Mister Burns showed up at that moment._

 _I moved out, Lydia and I divorced, and she left Springfield shortly thereafter._

 _That might've ruined my marriage, but it saved me._

 _Monty put the kibosh on my drinking. He knew I'd been sneaking a flask to work. He threatened to fire me if I didn't straighten my act up._

 _The drinking problem? Well, I come by that honestly._

 _My mother was a functional alcoholic. The sort of person who seems perfectly normal and well-adjusted, but is rarely ever truly sober. Sometimes, she'd pass out on the couch, and sleep most of the next day because she "wasn't feeling well." She was hung-over. The only cure was a drink which she'd have whenever she did get up, and the cycle would repeat again._

 _My step-father believed that families didn't air their dirty laundry in public, so he made excuses for her behavior, and never actually talked to me about it. For all his proud masculine attitudes, he was also a textbook enabler._

 _After my marriage ended, my relationship with my mother and step-father became strained to the near breaking point. Having learned at least a little from how badly I handled my marriage, I distanced myself from them early, while there was still some relationship to salvage._

 _My ankle healed, Monty pushing me to get off the pain medication with the same tenacity that he went after my drinking. He even took offense at my smoking. It was annoying, overbearing at times, but also oddly tender. There was a genuine concern for my well-being, even if he tried to hide it._

 _As for my first encounter with a man? I think that's what started this, well, that came at a convention. Monty and I had flown out to Denver for a symposium. I was expected to attend his every need, naturally, but at the end of the evening we drifted apart. He casually told me to go, mingle, make some casual connections of my own as he put it._

 _It was my first rather swanky trip away from Springfield. I felt completely out of my element. I went to the bar to have a drink, after first glancing furtively around to make sure he was nowhere in sight. I didn't feel like getting a lecture._

 _I can't remember what I ordered, but I was walking with my drink, making passing small talk. One of the conversations I found myself in, there was an older gentleman there. Well, I say older, but the truth is he was probably only in his forties, the age I am now. He seemed old then._

 _We started talking, and I realized I kept looking at his face in a way that would probably be described as staring. As the rest of our little group broke up, he sidled closer to me, and said "I caught you, but that's okay, I couldn't take my eyes off you either. Care to blow this popsicle stand?"_

 _The next thing I know we're up in his room, the door's locked, and the clothes are coming off._

 _Afterwards, he said he slept best alone. Since it was just a single king room I took the hint. I got dressed, went back up to the suite Monty had reserved for us, let myself in quietly, and went to bed. In retrospect, I didn't need to sneak in, Monty wasn't even back yet himself! I was asleep by the time he returned._

 _I looked for that man the next morning, but I didn't seem him. Honestly, I didn't even know his name, but it didn't seem to matter. That mysterious silver fox gave me the greatest gift he could've: an understanding of myself._

 _After that, the rest was easy, and though my heart never stopped belonging to Monty, it didn't stop me from fulfilling my own physical needs. I got comfortable with myself, went on vacations and cruises that catered to the all-male crowd. I learned to balance both the emotional and the physical aspects of my life. That's a very important lesson to learn._

 _All things considered, it might not've ever been a smooth ride. There've definitely been some rough patches, and I've made more than my fair share of mistakes. That daring silver fox, that man was my first, and I owe him a debt of gratitude. I probably wouldn't be who and where I am today if it wasn't for that night._

* * *

Waylon turned on the ottoman and smiled at his husband. "And there you have it, Monty. Anonymous sex with a stranger at a hotel in Denver. Does that answer your question?"

"Indeed, it answers two for me, Waylon. One, the question of tonight's confessions, and secondly it explains why you had such a glow to your cheeks, and spring in your step that next morning."

Smithers gave a wicked grin. "Why, Monty my dear, it was the first time I'd gotten laid since my divorce!" He threw back the remainder of his vodka tonic in one smooth motion and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief from his pocket.

"How about you, Preston?" Smithers asked, gesturing with his empty glass to the tall, thin man standing by the fire. "Any good stories for us?"

Preston smiled slightly, lowering his head shyly. "Well, I don't know," he muttered, staring into his wineglass as if waiting for it to reveal some secret, feeling his cheeks flush as Waylon and Burns urged him on.

"Oh, to hell with it!" he announced decisively, face splitting into wine-warmed grin. "I guess I'm in!" He topped off his glass and tiptoed back to his chair. Delicately he set his glass on the small table before dropping his long form into the chair with a decidedly casual flop.

"My first time? Well, actually you could say there were two..."

* * *

 **Preston's Story:**

 _I grew up in Boston. I'm a nineties kid and I don't deny it. My parents both worked, we had a housekeeper who looked after me, though I hate the term "nanny" because that makes me sound like a child._

 _I went to private schools for all my life. Private all-boys elementary school. Private co-ed preparatory school. Uniforms, courses such as Latin and Greek, that sort of thing. My education cost more than some peoples' houses, I'm sure. And that's not including college. After school, I had either music practice, club meetings, or private studies at home with one of my language tutors._

 _I suppose I did grow up in a different era than Waylon. The idea of homosexuality wasn't such a taboo topic in society. Especially out east. The views there tend to be a bit more liberal._

 _In most families at least._

 _Not in mine._

 _My father... you either agreed with him, or your statements weren't worth acknowledging. My mother was a bit distant as well. I never really knew them that well growing up. I loved them, I had a good childhood, they loved me. But their love was the aloof kind that shows itself in the form of pushing me to excel, and not taking anything less than straight A's as an acceptable goal._

 _So, I grew up learning German, Mandarin Chinese, how to play the viola. I was in Chess Club and Theatre. At least a few years I played basketball._

 _I speak a bit of Italian too, but not enough to be fluent in it. Mostly a few phrases I picked up from my father, the sort that oughtn't be repeated. Those, "sentence enhancing" parolacce not to be used in polite company._

 _Unlike Waylon, I suppose I knew from an early age that I was 'not exactly straight.' While other boys liked to look at National Geographic for pictures of topless women, I was eyeballing the scantily clad males._

 _I had my first puppy-love crush on a boy named Thomas when I was twelve. We were in a performance of "Cheaper by the Dozen" together. I'd bring a large bag of M &Ms that my housekeeper gave me (without my parents knowledge) and offer to share them with him._

 _Backstage, I'd find excuses to sit next to him, even if it meant having to squeeze in at the end of the bench. I didn't mind squeezing against him. Once, oh this is so embarrassing, I pretended to fall asleep during a late night rehearsal, and put my head on his shoulder._

 _It was heaven for me, but clearly he didn't feel the same. He kept shrugging his shoulder so I had no recourse but to pretend he'd woken me up, and sit up straight like it had all been an accident._

 _My first crush ended, like most do, utterly unfulfilled. Thomas got a lot of free M &Ms, and I learned my first lesson about unrequited love. He never caught on to me though. Perhaps if it had been a coed school he might've, but fortunately, with an all-male student body, there wasn't the same mindset._

 _Certain 'homo' things like falling asleep next to another boy were shrugged off by the fact that we were all boys!_

 _When I went to the my co-ed high school, the prep school, I dated a bit. I had girlfriends, though like Waylon it was more out of companionship than sexual attraction. They were casual relationships, not the "going steady" sort._

 _I tried to bring up the topic of homosexuality with my parents, but they quickly swept it under the carpet, with phrases like "late bloomer" and "you'll find somebody" the first time I tested the waters._

 _It wasn't as if my parents were homophobic, but more a case that in their minds the only sexual preference worth acknowledging was heterosexuality. Anything else wasn't discussed. There was no way around that, so I didn't bother pushing the issue._

 _They sometimes asked how my dating life was going, and I've got the obligatory stack of Senior Prom photos they took of me and my date de jour. I had fun, we both did, but it didn't go anywhere._

 _After high school I took the summer off to travel up and down the east coast with my tutor, learning American History. Our trip concluded with a few days' vacation in Cape Cod. There, I met a boy, also on vacation. We were both seventeen, young and hormonal._

 _He wasn't my first kiss ever, obviously, but he was my first masculine one. He, I, and a bunch of other kids had a bonfire on the beach which ended in skinny-dipping under the moonlight. I don't care much for water, but everyone else was doing it, guys and girls alike. In the darkness, no one could see when Alex and I grabbed each other's hands. Then it wasn't each others' hands we were holding._

 _No one could see anything else that happened either. There was enough splashing, and the girls were squealing about things that might be in the water. No one was the wiser as we jerked each other off._

 _It was intense, and the fact that no one else noticed made it all the more exhilarating._

 _If we're considering that a gay experience, that night would be my first._

 _It wasn't till college that I started fully exploring my sexuality. I did date my freshman year. I tried to play normal, but college was not like high school, and I found myself shocked by the number of openly gay, lesbian, and bi students on campus. There was even a club, the Gay-Straight Alliance, or something like that._

 _I was too shy to join my first year there. My second year though, I did. I started making weekend trips to Providence with some of the my friends from GSA, as long as it didn't interfere with my studies._

 _I went to my first gay bar, I went to my first drag show, and I was hooked._

 _From then on, it was never even a question. By my junior year, I had a steady boyfriend. He was my first, in the regards of physical intimacy. I was head-over-heels in love with him._

 _It didn't work out though. He couldn't deal with my double life. I was openly gay, if not vocal about it at college, but as soon as I went home I was back in the closet. I told him I'd never be able to invite him home for the weekend with me. He gave me the "it's your parents or me" ultimatum; and with them paying my tuition, there wasn't much I could say._

 _He took it personally, and midway through my senior year I was single again. I still went to the bars and clubs in Providence. I had fun. I wasn't emotionally involved with anyone, but I wasn't afraid to do a bit of cruising, hook up, or be someone else's hook up._

 _When I graduated, it was back in the closet for me. I had a career to establish, and I didn't want to risk anything that might be viewed as a detractor to my credentials. Eventually I wound up in Plateau City. I'd occasionally go to a bar there that, while technically a gay bar, wasn't exclusively that sort of venue. They have 'Drag Night' there about once a month. I'd never dress up, but I loved to watch the show..._

* * *

Preston's voice trailed off. Smithers shifted his weight nervously, remembering that club, and those drag shows, but Preston seemed genuinely unaware of Waylon's performance that one night so many years ago.

"Now, I'm with Antoine, and he's... he's not into anyone physically. It's hard to describe. It's a good relationship, and I suppose in the end I can meet my own needs. It is strange though, when I stop and think about it. I don't think I've ever been in love like this before, but it's not like any sort of relationship I've ever had before either."

From the ottoman, Waylon looked at his empty glass, debating whether to refill it.

"What about Antoine?"

Preston raised his hands in surrender. "I don't think Antoine's ever had anything with anybody before me. He's even told me I'm... you know what." Preston shook his head as if to clear it. "But we're not talking about that, because I'm not the sort and kiss and tell, at least not about the man I'm currently with. And, since he did ask me to marry him, rest assured I'll never tell what goes on in our private life. Let's just leave it with 'I'm happy,' and stick to that."

Preston set his wineglass on the end table and folded one leg over the other. He looked at the fire which had burned down significantly since their conversation began.

"Turn about is fair play, Mister Burns," he noted, with a slight nod in Monty's direction.

Burns leaned back and tented his fingers. "Ah, Mister Tucci, one of these tit-for-tat, 'I showed mine, now show me yours' arrangements? How forward of you. I dare say few would be brave enough to ask."

Preston gave a soft chuckle. "Maybe your truth serum is also liquid courage. Go on, Monty. Inquiring minds want to know."

Waylon Smithers shifted on the ottoman, turning his body so he was facing Burns. He threaded his legs between those of his husband, and regarded the old man intently.

"Et tu, Smithers?" Burns asked, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "I can see the unabashed intrigue on that fair facade of yours. Well then, it appears I am outvoted two to one tonight. You leave me no recourse but to begin..."

* * *

 **Monty's Story**

 _I was born out in Nebraska, at the frontier homestead of my mercurial father, Clifford. There I remained until that fateful day that my grandfather, the Colonel Wainwright Montgomery Burns, from whom part of my name is derived, came and took me away with him._

 _Thenceforth, I was raised at his plantation, most darling of his manor house, whose name I am disinclined to mention ever again._

 _I was truly doted upon, my every whim met with great indulgence. Rather than leave me sated, this only served to build my avarice, not just for material possessions, but power, and the possession of others as well._

 _I drew great delight in the finery of the ladies about town, and as I grew older sought to woo them with kingly abandon. I could court whomever I pleased, and their parents thrilled at the chance their daughter might be one day wed to such a magnificent figure..._

 _Oh, but that is only one side of the tale. And it is the side my grandfather would tell were he speaking through me. Even now, I fear my words may have gotten lost in his. Allow me to ask your pardon. You both wish to know my true story, and on this late night under the guise of alcohol and influence, I shall tell it to you._

 _There was a man in Mortrouge, a man by the name of Edmond Harlgrove. Oh he was a right proper dandy about town, a man who prided himself in his humility and his desire to be a good neighbor to all. He owned one of the larger plantations, almost large enough to match my grandfather's lands._

 _Harlgrove was, I dare say, a thorn in my grandfather's side; but much too well-liked and respected by the community to be 'dealt with.' He seemed to have made it his mission to frequent the old widower recluse, my grandfather, bringing his young son in tow as companionship for me during his social visits._

 _Grandfather? He loathed Harlgrove's visits, cursed vehemently the moment he saw Harlgrove and son coming up the front lane. Etiquette and appearances however forced my grandfather to welcome Harlgrove in, invite him to stay for whatever afternoon or mid-morning drinks were being served._

 _Harlgrove, in turn, would try to lighten my grandfather's heart to the town, prattling on about the most banal aspects of provincial life, and throwing in a bit of religious encouragement for good will._

 _I would stay for as long as was polite, before Harlgrove would say to Grandfather: "the poor lads grow weary listening to us. Why don't you let them able about your gardens for a spell? I'll call for mine when it is time to take leave."_

 _My grandfather would smile through his clenched teeth, then grant us permission._

 _And so, perhaps one of my only true playmates was found in the form of Harlgrove's son._

 _Youth aged quicker then. The marrying age far younger than it is today. I was a lad in my teens, as was Harlgrove, and (not entirely unlike you, Preston) there was a slightly different aspect to our play._

 _It was mutual, this fondness, that grew and expanded with each passing year, even as Harlgrove's visits to the manor decreased. His son and I would carouse about town, teasing the pretty girls, offering much and promising nothing but sweet hope._

 _After our games, we'd ride down to the river and repose ourselves on the shady banks. We would swim at times too, removing our finery, wearing nothing but our young egos._

 _I cannot recall, looking back, who first transitioned our friendship from that of young peers to something more intimate. Perhaps it was the way the water glistened off his naked body as we lay basking on the sun-warmed rocks. Maybe it was the way he would untangle and comb my hair so my grandfather would not protest when I arrived home._

 _Whatever it was, however, that boundary melted away under the summer sun, and our prudence deliquesced with it. We came to know each other, biblically as they would say. I found myself enthralled with this masculine Adonis, not to the exclusion of women, but unquestionably to the equal thereof._

 _We met often, by the river, under the willows, day or night. Whenever we thought we might get a moment's solitude to share slake our forbidden passions._

 _I shan't tell you how that story ended. Even I have things I am loathed to recall. But I promised him, before we let go of one another's hand forever, that I would remember him._

 _On the day that I discovered I would become a father, before beloved Lily was sent away, I asked of her one favor, begged her to grant me that at least._

 _"If the child be a girl," said I, "then swear to me you'll name her Paradisea, after my favorite Lily in all of Europe. For you are already my favorite Lily in this land. But if the child be a boy, would you do the honor of naming him after my dearest childhood friend?"_

 _When she agreed, without hesitation, I knelt at took her hands. "Name him Lawrence," I pleaded. "Would you do this for me?"_

 _She agreed, without question. And that was where this story ends._

* * *

Montgomery Burns leaned back, and reached for his brandy. His face was calm, relaxed, almost soft. It was a different expression than Preston typically saw on the old man, and for a second (if only a second) he could understand a bit of what Waylon saw.

As for Waylon, he was sitting, hands between his knees, leaning forward in rapt attention. "That wasn't a story, Monty," he said, gently reaching out to place a palm on Burns' leg.

"It most assuredly was," the old man replied, folding his thin arms across his hollow chest.

"That was two stories," Smithers insisted. "That young man, back in Louisiana... his name was Lawrence. He's the namesake of your son, Larry."

"Verily," Burns replied, voice soft. "I made a promise to Lawrence, no? For all the years that you've known me Smithers, how often do I ever promise anything?"

Before Waylon could reply, Burns cut him off with a wave of the hand. "I rarely, if ever use that word, 'promise,' because my dear Smithers, and young Tucci, if I do take heart to utter such a phrase, it is one I refuse to ever renege. That, and perhaps only that, is my Achilles heel. A simple little phrase, but one I will do all things in my power to honor. I may have failed once, but that has only pushed me to redouble my efforts to keep that word sacred since."

Montgomery Burns yawned, stretched, and rested a hand lightly atop Smithers. Their fingers interlaced. "I don't know the lateness of the hour, but it appears the fire itself has retired before us."

Preston and Waylon glanced over to the hearth. The last logs had once danced with licks of flame had long since crumbled away to nothing more than glowing coals.

"Come," Burns said, pushing himself to his feet, and extending a hand to Smithers and Preston in turn. "You men both seem a bit unsteady. I, fortunately, am fine. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here in drinking nearly an entire bottle of wine, or vodka, by one's self."

"You outdrank us both," Preston protested, leaning on the arm of his chair.

"The benefits of a long life, my dear Tucci. I've more than thrice the decades you've had to build a tolerance that would outlast all but the most seasoned dipsomniac."

Arm in arm with Waylon, he reached out and took Preston by the elbow. "No, young fellow. Do not think to compare yourself with me. You may be a fledgling atom baron yourself, but you are young; and unquestionably not a Burns."

With that, Montgomery Burns pushed the doors open, and strode confidently through the familiar corridors of his echoing manor, up the marble stairs, and down carpeted rows. Waylon at his side, Preston following slightly behind.

It was late, time for all and each retire: Preston to his single room, Burns and Waylon to each other's arms in their chamber at the end of the hall.

They didn't talk, there was no wishes of goodnight. But there was an unspoken understanding. A little drawing of the three, a triumvirate, between the quiet and accomplished men.


	2. Author's Notes

**Author's Notes:**

This story may be short, but it serves to add in many details I'd removed over the course of writing my previous stories. For example, the parts about Waylon Smithers' childhood were almost completely removed when I broke my original manuscript into the four separate pieces. I had mountains of notes on Smithers' history, his high school and college years; how he met Lydia, and the events that ultimately led to their divorce. In and of itself, it's not a story I felt like devoting a great deal of time to writing, because I feel like fans already know the gist, and writing a detailed story would have little direct impact on the here'n'now I've set up in these timelines.

In "Revelations of Men," there were likewise large swaths of story that got cut, not the least of which was Burns' relationship with Lawrence Harlgrove, son of the popular town gadabout, Edmond. I always wanted to explain why Burns named his son Larry, ever since I started writing "Revelations," but there was never a good place to put that. So, I tossed it aside, wondered vaguely if Readers would notice the connection between "Lawrence" and "Larry;" and filed the idea away for things to talk about at a later time.

Preston's history, likewise, has been something I wanted to share, but hadn't found a good place for until the idea to combine all three backgrounds popped into my head one rainy November afternoon.

Hopefully, you've enjoyed reading this; and likewise I hope that it provides a bit more detail to these characters' respective identities.

As always, thanks for reading!

~ Muse


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